


It's hard to say what I feel when I'm by your side.

by goldenmoon99



Category: Rocketman (2019), Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, jamie bell is a sweatheart, richard is a sad man, set in cannes, well kinda but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 00:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19779964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmoon99/pseuds/goldenmoon99
Summary: Richard has had this stupid crush on his friend for months and months, maybe it's time he actually does something about it.





	It's hard to say what I feel when I'm by your side.

Everything hurt. His mind and his body were tired and everything ached, a numb, dull ache that only a beer and a cigarette could fix. He’d been put on a strict training course for so long that he couldn’t remember what life with rest was like. He’d kill for a day in bed without obligations or distractions or his mind going off at him, just the wide expanse of sheets and pillows. His brain was buzzing, it had been for months and he couldn’t shut it up. No matter how hard he tried it was still nabbing at him, edging him on. It was stupid, his own mind purposefully sabotaging him. He’d always had “brain problems”, an utter mind fuck pulling him in so many directions he didn’t know where to turn, spreading him way too thin to cover all his bases. It hurt, made him want to curl up, never open the door, but he moved on. He sucked in as much air as he could hold in his lungs and he moved on. Always forward, always towards the next project, the next big press conference, the next meeting, always on the run, up in the air, always busy. And when he wasn’t busy he was too tired to focus on anything else. But now, now that his days consisted of working out, his brain, his mind, his stupid fucking consciousness had time to think, time to pull together all his anxieties and fears and launch canon balls at everything he had so preciously constructed. The walls, built so high and so thick they had become impenetrable were slowly crumbling and he couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t break down. Not here, not now, not ever.

Cannes film festival was coming up dauntingly fast for the whole crew but in some twisted way he was happy, excited even at the idea of letting go for the evening. This was easy. This he could do, stand in front of thousands of people and cameras, his one job was to just look like a pretty boy. Taron and Dexter were the ones with the real pressure, even Jamie had some, but Richard was free. It was selfish in a way, to be so glad none of it was on him and everything was on his friends, his co-workers. He played the part of the disdainful ex, no one wanted to praise the admirability of his role because he wasn’t admirable, he was hateful, truly and god was he glad about it.

The night before the ceremony he relaxed, his mind was firing questions about the next day and miraculously it didn’t pick at any of his insecurities. Alcohol and cigarettes, that was the trick. The wonderful cool air and beautiful view helped, but mainly his ice cold beer.  
He’d always been picky about alcohol, which beers he drank and at what temperature but it had been too long. Too long waiting for the sweet release of a nice drink that he really didn’t care. He had too many things to care about tomorrow that the question of if his beer was chilled properly was pushed way out of his mind.

He was fine about going up in front of those people, he had no worries about the film, his only insecurity came with facing the man himself, Taron Egerton.

Taron was wonderful, he was kind-hearted, selfless, an amazing vocalist, a fantastic actor and he was beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Richard was whipped, the first time he’d heard Taron’s voice he’d been blown away, seeing him in the flesh after that had just made him implode.

It was no denying that meeting Taron had changed his life, for the good or the bad, that was still debatable. Something in his body, in his energy shifted on that day and he sounded nuts, absolute bonkers when he re-read his journal entry but fuck it was true. Way too true.

And yes, admittedly, Richard Madden had a journal, a diary, a whatever-the-fuck you want to call it. It helped him on bad days to re-read about the good days, and when he was too high up, when he knew that he was going to crash sooner or later, reading old entries about when life sucked helped him so that the fall wasn’t that steep. He’d colour-coded it too. His first desire had been to make it pretty, but when a really bad day had hit he realised that decorating a page wasn’t in his best interest. So he’d gone with the classic red and green. Red for bad days, green for good. These days there was a lot more red than green covering the pages but he was working on it.

He sunk deeper into his chair on the balcony, arms hanging loosely, head thrown back and eyes closed, cigarette dangling from his lips. Peace, at last. Not a sound but the distant waves against the shore.

His phone buzzed, lighting up the darkness, gripping and pulling Richard up and out into the air again.

He didn’t want to sigh, sighing was indignant, it made him look like he didn’t care, like he was sick of it all.

He sighed, picked up his phone and squinted at the brightness.

**22:48 - T.**

**_wanna come round  
_** ****__**_for a couple of beers ?  
_** __**_room 254, east wing  
_** _**_xxx_**  
_

********

****

“Ugh fuck.”

Richard couldn’t refuse Taron anything. It was annoying and it pissed him off how easy he was, how all Taron had to do was say something and he’d be agreeing and folding himself to every single whim. He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to think but fuck it, he was so far gone there was no turning back now.

Leaving his room deemed harder than he had expected, he knew that he was a good looking man, but in that moment, bags under his eyes, a plain shirt and scruffy shoes he suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore. Finding himself face to face with Taron would certainly be a disappointment, he didn’t even have to try and he looked good, pretty eyes, strong jaw and playful smile doing nearly all the work. A couple of beers was nothing, it was supposed to be relaxed, natural, normal. God, when had he ever been normal ? He stared into his suitcase willing an outfit to pop out, willing something to slap him and bring him back to his senses.

**23:10 - T.**

_**forget about it.  
see you tomorrow** _

It wasn’t exactly his heart shattering but maybe something as equally as painful that bloomed in his chest, ran down his spine and curled in his gut, pushing and forming a knot in his throat. He’d really become this soft ? Was he really going to cry for a boy ?

_Not just any boy though is he Madden ?_

The urge to tell his own brain to fuck off was very strong, if only Taron hadn’t sent that thoughtless text he’d still be sitting on the balcony drowning in peace. Instead he was kneeling in front of his suitcase, stressed out of his mind.

_Isn’t it too easy to blame him ? If you’d managed to walk out of the door you’d be having drinks by now but no you just fucked it all up didn’t you ?_

“Fuck off”

His voice cut through the silence and a bitter laugh left his lips, he really had gone mad, talking to himself was a new low. His mind was racing, thoughts swirling but never stopping. Did Taron think he was a joke ? Had this been an experiment to him ? To see how quickly he could get Richard to come fetch ? God this was too much. Too much stress and for what ? To end up broken hearted ? To end up crying and lonely ?

He pulled himself up off the ground, an attempt to maybe stop this pity party he was throwing himself, but it was no use. He still couldn’t shake the thought that he was so utterly worthless and so utterly pathetic to think that Taron actually cared about him in any way.

He looked down at the content of his glass and gulped down the few mouthfuls left. He was exhausted, his bones, his core was so tired he might just shatter. Clumsily stripping his clothes off, throwing them around the room, he fell onto his bed. It wasn’t perfect, he liked his beds fluffier, he liked his beds with someone else in them but alas, that hadn’t been happening for a while and he couldn’t exactly see it happening any time soon. He ran the back of his hand over the pillow next to him and down the bed, the illusion of missing someone settling his need for physical company. His drunken mind could imagine that maybe the object of his affection was in the shower or had gone to work or—fuck he really was pathetic.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> give kudos n comment ✨[]()
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://maddertonbells.tumblr.com/)


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